Strange Conscience

More reaction to real life events

I used to be free to fantasize.
Crushes, suppressed giggles and sighs.
Some years I was content,
Some years this quiet desperation.
Still, in my mind I was free.
Down so many roads,
Up so many hills,
I've grown weary, even to dream.
Excitement fires like a shot,
a new romantic flight of fancy.
Yet now, the recoil hits each time.
Every imagined kiss comes with
A responsibility chaser.
How can I dream of love,
When I am just an empty cup?
Why dream perfect stolen moments,
When nothing ever works out?
There is nothing left in me to give.
Can't even stomach breaking,
A fictional heart.
Even as I ached for it,
In sleep I cried with closed eyes,
Murmuring: Don't love me.